Chapter 8

Ayleen's POV

It was Sunday morning. Lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, I couldn’t think of anything else but those eyes—the color of honey—how they shifted from playful and teasing to something I never expected. Pain. Sadness.

I exhaled, dragging myself out of bed, determined to spend the day practicing. Maybe asking Serena to join wouldn’t be a bad idea. Playing with someone else always made it easier to focus.

I knocked on her door, waiting. No answer.

Frowning, I pushed it open. The bed was untouched, neatly made, like she hadn’t come home last night.

With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and dialed George. He picked up quickly, and when I asked if he had seen Serena after I left, he casually mentioned that she had left with Edward.

I was happy for her, really. But I hoped she wouldn’t lose sight of why we came here in the first place. Serena had always been the type to get swept up in the moment. And knowing her, if she got into a serious relationship, she’d lose her focus entirely. Her parents wouldn’t be pleased, but more than that… I didn’t want to see her give up her dreams for a fleeting romance.

Pushing the thought aside, I sat at the old, beat-up keyboard I had bought for practice. The new one stayed with George. Clara had said it was a gift for the band, which meant it wasn’t mine to keep. And honestly, I didn’t want something so expensive around.

Hours passed, my fingers moving mindlessly across the keys, when the sharp ring of the intercom startled me. Serena must have forgotten her keys.

With a heavy sigh, I got up and pressed the button. "Serena?"

A slight pause. Then, "Uh… hey, Ayleen. It’s me, Clara."

That caught me off guard.

Before I could respond, she continued, "Can I come up for a second?"

She wanted to come inside.

I glanced around the apartment—not too messy, at least. Still, my stomach twisted as I buzzed her in. Why was she here?

A few minutes later, I heard a soft, deliberate knock on the door. My heart pounded as I ran a quick hand through my hair, then hesitated. Why? Did I actually care how she saw me?

Taking a breath, I opened the door.

She stood there in a simple black shirt and jeans, a far cry from the polished, high-end outfits she usually wore. It suited her. Too well.

"Wow," she huffed, slightly breathless, "you have no elevator here. I should go to the gym more often, I’m out of shape."

A giggle slipped past my lips before I could stop it. "Nonsense, you look amazing." I meant it.

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable before she stepped inside. "Sorry for showing up unannounced."

I watched as her gaze discreetly scanned the apartment. Meanwhile, my own shamelessly traced the curve of her body. She either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

"I like your place," she murmured. "It’s cozy."

"It’s nothing much, but it’s enough for me and Serena."

"Where’s your room?" she asked, already wandering toward the bedrooms without waiting for an answer.

"Uh—this one," I quickly pointed, stepping ahead of her to make sure she didn’t walk into Serena’s.

The moment she stepped inside, I regretted it.

My room was embarrassingly simple—a small bed pushed against the wall, more like a couch than a bed. A tiny wardrobe beside it. Across the room, my keyboard sat surrounded by scattered sheet music.

Clara’s gaze lingered.

"Were you studying?" she asked, nodding toward the keyboard. Then her eyes narrowed slightly. "Where’s the new one?"

"I left it with George," I explained. "It’s the band’s property."

Her expression darkened, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "Right."

She said nothing else. Instead, she walked over to my bed and sat down, legs crossed, her elbow resting on her knee as she propped her chin on her palm.

"Go on then," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Play something for me."

I folded my arms. "You’re awfully demanding."

She smirked. "I just know what I want."

I sighed. "I study classical music."

"And what makes you think I don’t like classical music?" She leaned back, watching me. "Go ahead."

I hesitated.

Why did I feel so compelled to play for her?

Without another word, I sat down, letting my fingers brush the keys. For a moment, I just let them rest there, feeling the smooth surface beneath my fingertips. Then, slowly, I let them move.

A melody filled the space between us, delicate yet powerful.

I kept my eyes down, afraid to look at her. But I could feel her watching. Could feel the air shift, charged with something unnamed.

And for the first time since meeting Clara, I wasn’t sure which one of us had control.

"Was it this bad? Left you speechless?" I chuckled, feeling an unexpected wave of nervousness. Somehow, having her watch me play this closely, alone, made me shy.

Clara blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. "N… no, of course not. Don’t be silly," she said, clearing her throat. She straightened in her seat, trying to school her expression back into something playful, but there was a hesitance there, something almost vulnerable lingering in her eyes. "It’s just that… you play with so much passion. Felt like I could see your soul." She exhaled, shaking her head. "I don’t know how to explain. It’s silly, I guess."

I tilted my head, watching her. This wasn’t the smooth, overconfident Clara I was used to.

"It’s not silly," I said softly. "Actually… I’m really happy you said that. I always try to show how the music makes me feel. You’re the first person to notice. It makes me feel like I’m closer to achieving my goal as a musician."

Clara’s gaze softened, and for the briefest moment, I swore I saw something else in it.

"Simply mesmerizing, Ayleen," she whispered.

It was so low, almost like she didn’t mean for me to hear it. But I did.

And it made my face burn.

She cleared her throat again, shifting gears so fast I barely had time to recover. "Ah, I almost forgot. I came here to take you out for dinner, as we agreed the other day."

I blinked. "I thought you gave me your card and told me to call you. What was the point if you were just going to show up and drag me out to eat?"

Clara smirked, shrugging like it was obvious. "I like things my way."

I folded my arms. "That’s called being entitled."

"Call it what you want. Either way, I’m taking you to lunch." She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. "Come oooon, Ayleen, join me, please?"

Her voice dipped into something dangerously close to pleading, and when she pouted—actually pouted—I knew I was done for. My heart gave an embarrassing little flutter. That woman knew exactly how to play her cards.

"Clara…" I hesitated. "I don’t know. I don’t think I can."

The truth was, I wanted to. But the thought of sitting in some expensive restaurant, pretending I wasn’t worried about money, made my stomach twist.

"Ayleen, please." Clara sighed dramatically as she stood up, already walking toward the door like my agreement was inevitable. "Get dressed. I invited you, I’m paying. Nothing fancy, just lunch."

She reached for the doorknob, then glanced back, her smirk returning. "Unless you want me to help you change?"

The second those words left her mouth, I grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at her.

Clara laughed, dodging it effortlessly as she slipped out the door, leaving me standing there, warm-cheeked and flustered.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, shaking my head.

But despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips.